Embedded
by sergeant-bullshit
Summary: Kelly Shakoor was offered the chance to write "the story of the decade" for Rolling Stone magazine, alongside Evan Wright. Skeptical of the choice, but determined, Kelly makes her way directly into the heart of the Invasion of Iraq with her coworker. Nothing could prepare her for the upcoming months stationed with the 1st Reconnaissance Battalion.
1. The Assignment

**I've had this Generation Kill story idea for well over a year now, and finally got started on it! I hope you all enjoy! Feedback is always appreciated xoxo**

 **The events and descriptions of the people in this story is SOLELY based on the TV miniseries Generation Kill, and is in no way affiliated with the real men that show portrays. I do not want to disrespect the real Evan Wright, Nate Fick, or any of the men who served with the 1st Reconnaissance Battalion, this is purely for fun and entertainment.**

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 **Chapter 1: The Assignment**

"Shakoor!"

Kelly blew a strand of her dark hair out of her face, lowering the receiver of her phone. She tried to mask the annoyance on her face, but the scowl etched on her face was clearly seen by her interrupter. Ella was standing in front of her desk, grasping a few loose papers, appearing rushed and frantic.

"Shakoor-"

Kelly raised her pointer finger, signaling the jittery woman to wait, "I'm in the middle of a story on R. Kelly, can't this wait?"

Ella shook her head, "no, the manager needs to see you right away!"

Kelly arched an incredulous brow at the woman, not believing what she was hearing. She doubted the district manager of _Rolling Stone_ would want to see _her_ , a journalist who had just started writing for the magazine a month ago.

Ella shifted back and forth in place, anxiously waiting for Kelly's response. Seeing how serious Ella looked made all the uncertainty fade from Kelly, and a pit of nervousness settle in the pit of her gut.

"You're positive," Kelly questioned.

Ella nodded rapidly, her head bobbing up and down.

Kelly worked her jaw in thought, suddenly fearing that she was in trouble. She told the person on the other line that she'd have to call back, then hung up the phone. As Kelly made her way down the busy halls and corridors, her mind raced with the possibilities of why the manager would want to meet with her. She wondered if it was because her writing on the latest article she submitted was subpar, or if she had submitted a draft filled with typos. Her mind raced as she entered the distract manager's office door, knocking subtly to signal she had arrived.

A man stood in front of the distract manager's desk. He glanced back at Kelly, a small smile gracing his thin lips. Kelly looked back and forth between the manager and the man, feeling like something was brewing in between the two.

"Ah, Kelly Shakoor, please come in," the manager greeted, as he busily organized papers on his desk.

Kelly obediently stepped forward, her dark eyes suspiciously studying the man who stood beside her. The man averted his eyes from her, shyly, looking back at the manager.

The manager leaned forward in his chair, folding his hands before him, resting them on his desk. He seemed adamant about something, but also slightly hesitant to explain what that was. The man next to her seemed more eager about whatever news the manager was about to bear.

"Ms. Shakoor, this is Evan Wright, he's a fellow journalist here," the manager introduced, nonchalantly.

The two exchanged a silent greeting.

"I have an assignment for you, Ms. Shakoor, one where you'll accompany Mr. Wright. It's a big one," the manager explained, pausing to clear his throat, "the two of you are going to be sent to report with the 1st Reconnaissance Battalion."

"The military?" Kelly asked, puzzled.

"The Marines, actually. You both will be traveling with the battalion as embedded journalists, covering the invasion of Iraq."

Kelly gaped at her boss. "You want to send us… in a warzone?"

The manager waved his hand at her, dismissively, "it's common this day and age, _Rolling Stone_ wants an article focused on first-hand accounts of the war on terror. Mr. Wright wanted this assignment, and convinced a damned commander to get it, but there's one condition: he can't go alone."

Kelly stared at Evan, stunned. "Why was I chosen?"

"You're of Middle-Eastern descent, aren't you, Kelly," the manager asked.

Kelly felt herself grow stiff, "that's correct, but I was born here, I'm American."

" _My_ boss wants an account from someone who can 'better relate' to what is going on over there, and you're the only Muslim writer we have."

Kelly's brows furrowed, "I'm not Muslim, sir, I don't practice that religion, I'm a Christian. My last name is Shakoor, but my parents immigrated here to-"

The manager shrugged, cutting her off: "You're the only choice we got. You can refuse, but the rest of management wouldn't be thrilled with your decision. Look, this is the opportunity of a lifetime, you'll be offered a raise, not to mention the chance to work on the story of the decade."

Kelly softened, thinking about what this potential story could bring. They would be heading into a warzone to directly document what was happening, but with the rewards to come, there was great danger. The two men let her analyze her decision for a moment, waiting patiently for her much anticipated reply.

Kelly Shakoor's parents had fled from Afghanistan before she was born, settled in the United States before starting a family. She had been raised as a basic American child, able to choose her own religion and pursue an education as she pleased. But seeing the Middle East in turmoil did upset her, and her parents, deeply. Part of her wondered if she could shed some light on the true events that were happening overseas; report on what is happening to the innocents. These were her people, weren't they? Did she feel she owed them some sort of justice? It was a complicated answer - one Kelly wasn't really sure of herself.

She finally nodded. "I'll do it."

 **0000**

Kelly and Evan left the office in awestruck and quiet, attempting to process the fact that they'd be heading to Iraq at the end of the week. Evan smiled at her a moment, wanting to say something, but he looked away. He wasn't sure how to talk to this woman. She had only been writing for _Rolling Stone_ for a month, but she already had a reputation for being headstrong, determined, and very passionate in her writing. He had read some of her articles, admiring how she wasn't afraid to be blatant with the truth. Kelly had been recently assigned to cover Billboard's top songs, something she wasn't thrilled with. Kelly wanted to make a difference with her writing, and now as far as Evan could see, was given her golden opportunity to write about something immensely important.

"So, Kelly..." Evan started, awkwardly.

"Mr. Wright, was I chosen for this assignment because I'm a good writer, or just because of my race," Kelly interjected, her tone stern.

Evan was taken aback. "I don't... uh-"

"That's what I thought," she clipped, quickening her pace ahead of Evan.

Evan was afraid she was angry at him because of this choice, but to his surprise she cast a leer at him over her shoulder. Her eyes fixed his in firm conviction.

"I'm going to prove to them that I should've been selected because of my writing. I'm going to write the best damn story _Rolling Stones_ has ever seen."


	2. Messy Introductions

**A/N: Some dialogue from the TV series. Enjoy!**

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 **Chapter 2: Messy Introductions**

 _Northern Kuwait_

 _March 11_ _th_ _\- 21_ _st_ _, 2003_

The Humvee sped off, leaving the two writers in the dust before they could change their minds. Kelly held the Boonie hat onto her head, securing it so the strong gusts of wind wouldn't blow it away. The hat was the only article of clothing her and Evan wore that properly blended them with the rest of the Marines, they both had arrived with graphic tees, jeans, and their writing materials.

Kelly nervously twisted at her Dutch-braided hair, observing the rowdy Marines around their tents. Evan smiled reassuringly at her, giving her a slight nod, but she didn't feel very "reassured." She was the only woman here and was about to walk into the lion's den. Hell, she guessed she was the only woman within a ten-mile radius or more. She had already braced herself for the worst, knowing these men's reactions were most likely going to be inappropriate, to say it nicely. The briefing she got on the way here just increased her anxiety: she was warned of sexual assault, verbal assault, and was advised to stay with Evan at all times. She was told if she had any problems at all, to report to someone named 1st Lieutenant Nate Fick. She was assured that this man, and someone else by the name of "Gunny," would watch out for her - they had already been instructed to do so. Evan was also told to keep an eye on her, as well.

"There really isn't anything out here, is there?" Evan spoke, breaking the tense silence.

He stared out into the vast desert. He was right about that, there was absolutely nothing out here other than sand and sky. Kelly could already taste the dirt and sand in her mouth, and the windy atmosphere didn't help. She was surprised that it wasn't incredibly hot; the high today was eighty-five degrees, but she was advised that the desert gets cold at night, and strong wind storms were common.

"Nothing but us, and the First Recon Marines," Kelly muttered, "so begins Operation Iraqi Freedom."

Evan chuckled lightly, "don't sound so enthusiastic," he joked.

Kelly turned to him. "How can you be so chipper? We're going to get eaten alive, Wright."

"I'm sure it won't be that bad," Evan replied.

Kelly only shrugged in response, disagreeing with him. Their arrival wasn't going to be like walking the red carpet, she expected some kind of hostility, or jeers from these soldiers. They had been stuck out here in Camp Mathilda, growing bored and antsy to experience combat, while her and Evan enjoyed the luxuries of a first-world country back home; the restlessness wouldn't be spared for a couple of civilians.

"Let's go find out where we're supposed to be," Evan suggested.

Kelly obliged, following her co-worker into the fray of Marines.

 **0000**

"Sir? I have two reporters that are supposed to see you," a solider told a younger soldier.

Kelly waited with Evan outside the tent, observing the interaction between the two Marines. The younger solider stood up, his eyes landing on the writers. She noted how young he appeared, and how he was already being addressed as 'sir.' The silver bar pinned to his lapel had impressed her, so young but already a leader.

"Welcome to Camp Mathilda, I'm 1st Lieutenant Nathaniel Fick of Bravo Platoon Two," he greeted.

He outstretched his hand, smiling warmly at them. Kelly watched Evan shake the Lieutenant's hand. She was cautious at first, but seeing his professional demeanor, and kind green eyes, made her feel more at ease. This was the man that was "supposed" to make sure she and Evan were safe, so she was relieved to see that he seemed trustworthy.

"Evan Wright," Evan introduced.

The Lieutenant held out his hand to Kelly, she took his hand. She expected a bone-crushing, firm handshake, but he handled her hand gently. He didn't break eye contact with her, making the headstrong writer feel flustered for reasons she didn't understand.

"Kelly Shakoor," she mumbled, releasing his hand quickly.

"You two are going to be embedded with our fifth vehicle, specifically in Team Leader Brad Colbert's Humvee. I'm sure you both have already been prepped on safety precautions?" Nate explained, looking back and forth between them.

"We're not going to be with you?" Kelly questioned, feeling nervous again.

Nate smiled sympathetically at her, knowing that she was anxious.

"I'm part of Bravo Platoon Two, I'm Humvee Four, so I'll still be around."

Kelly nodded, swallowing down any further questions she had. So, the two men who she was told would be there to help won't actually be completely present the entire time.

"Follow me, I'll show you where you'll be staying in the meantime," Nate said, leading them over to a tent.

Right when the trio entered the tent, all conversation between the Marines ceased, and all eyes fell on them. The glares felt like a physical weight against Kelly's skin, followed by some unwanted leers. Evan smiled in welcome, as if he didn't realize how unpopular the two of them already were, and they just showed up. Kelly took the excuse not to make eye contact by studying the tent. There were thin sleeping bags lined up, boxes, and clothes and uniforms hung on a clothesline. The tents were huge, they seemed to go back further than she originally thought.

"I gotta be at battalion for a while, so make sure nothing happens while I'm there," Nate announced to the observant crowd. "These two are writers who're gonna embed with us, they're from _Rolling Stone_ , so be gentle, and keep your hands off." He nodded his head toward Kelly, specifically.

Kelly watched the Lieutenant leave, now feeling deprived of a shield. Evan glanced back, and also grinned again in greeting.

"The Rolling Stones?" Someone questioned.

" _Rolling Stone?"_ A young Marine with spikey hair questioned.

"Fuck if they don't give us a dope-smoking, peace-freak writer," another Marine drawled, his southern accent thick. "But fuck man, they 'er nice enough to send us her. Now we got somethin' in person to jack-off to."

We smiled unpleasantly at her, she heard some of the men whistle in the back. Kelly crossed her arms, wanting nothing more than to turn around and leave. She started to question if coming out here was a mistake. Nate had left them alone less than a minute, and they were already experiencing issues. She noticed Evan wasn't smiling now, especially not when someone called him "faggot" somewhere in the back.

"Christenson," a Marine whom was lying on his sleeping bag, holding a magazine called.

His piercing blue eyes went right through Kelly, she felt exposed and vulnerable before him.

"Tell _Rolling Stone magazine_ pair where to stow their shit," he added.

A Marine with a mustache, and the southerner weren't letting them pass. She stood behind Evan, wanting as little visibility as possible.

"You two gonna write about how we all baby killers, and mama rapers, huh?" The southerner jeered.

Evan opened his mouth wordlessly, not knowing how to respond. Kelly started getting angry now, the insults grinding unpleasantly against their ears. Heat started to rise in her cheeks, her fists now clenched tightly at her sides.

"You gonna tell them people who read _Rolling Stone_ how it fuckin' feels to be in a war?" A soldier with a camo bandana added, he wasn't even looking at them, his tone uninterested.

The soldier Christenson jogged up to them, and started to lead the two writers toward the back. Kelly stayed close to Evan, feeling like prey.

"Actually, most avid readers of _Rolling Stone_ only really know what it feels like to have a cock up their assholes," another dark-haired Marine with large dark eyes to match commented.

Someone chuckled in the back, as Kelly rolled her eyes in clear disgust.

"Could be worse, I used to write for _Hustler,"_ Evan replied, finally speaking.

The southern Marine stopped dead in his tracks, putting his hand in front of Evan to stop him. Of all things to get their attention, Kelly wasn't surprised. She had just entered the tent and had lost count of all the dirty magazines she'd seen.

"You wrote for _Hustler_?" The southerner asked.

The dark-haired Marine jumped up to join him, "what did you write for _Hustler_?" Placing a hand on Evan's shoulder.

"Uh, porn reviews, Hot Letters, Beaver Hunt," Evan listed.

The men laughed, clearly pleased by his past work. Kelly only glowered at Evan's back, feeling envious that he had already gained acceptance because he used to be a writer for a smutty magazine. As they continued to walk, the southern soldier smacked Kelly in the ass as she walked by him. Kelly whipped around, dropping her things on the ground, enraged. The southerner grinned impishly at her, liking the attention. The entire tent was watching them now, she could feel the eyes on her again.

"Why don't you com' on o'er here, Miss Scribe, I got a nice spot for you to sit on down, right here," he pointed to his face.

"Why? Is your nose bigger than your dick?" The words poured out of Kelly's mouth, unfiltered.

"Oh shit!" Someone shouted behind her.

More laughter followed, obviously surprised and enjoying the conflict. The smile on the southerner's face faltered immediately, as the realization came over him that he had just been insulted, a woman no less. Kelly felt inspired that he wasn't able to think of a comeback, she decided to keep going.

"Not even in your dreams, you repugnant, servile-Marine hick," she spat.

"Kelly…" Evan interjected nervously.

More 'oooos' and 'aaaaaaas' followed, Kelly felt absolutely triumphant. Seeing the Marine's stunned and furious expression on his face was icing on the cake for her. She thought she probably would regret this later, but for now she wanted to assert herself and show that she was not someone who would allow herself to be pushed around.

"I'll try to dumb down my vocabulary for you next time," Kelly added, picking up her items from the ground. She looked over at Christenson and Evan, who were staring at her, agape. "Where should I put my stuff?"

"Oh, right over here," Christenson replied, pointing to two empty sleeping bags right next to each other.

"Yo, James, you just got fuckin' destroyed by a girl, and a brown one at that," someone chuckled.

"Shut the fuck up," James (the southerner) snapped.

"Brown girl, really?" Kelly clipped, annoyed. "Yes, my parents are immigrants from Afghanistan, but I'm American just like all of you."

"Fuck, she's a damn Locust Eating haji!" James shouted. "Almost as bad as a fuckin' Spic."

"Yo, that ain't cool, man, fuckin' race-hating motherfucker," another Marine with a black bandana tied around his head interrupted.

Kelly didn't expect anyone to stick up for her, but she was glad someone called out this racist's bullshit.

"Oh, Spics, a coon, and a fucking wigger," James responded, a testy smile on his face. He looked up at Evan, as if the reporter would give him some kind of affirmation. "See, wiggers be the worst- race traitors, miscegenatin' with the muds."

Hey!" A new Marine, with a bald head stood up.

Kelly had never been so relived not to be the only minority in a place before. Evan watched the entire ordeal, his eyes as wide as dinner plates.

"You two don't have to listen to this little trailer-trash-Whiskey-Tango fuck," he added.

"Ain't all your crackhead brothers nappy-headed and shit?" A Hispanic soldier with glasses questioned. He addressed Evan and Kelly: "James is the only white boy in the family. Three step-dads, and they're all black."

"Take this down, dawg," the bald solider nodded toward Evan and Kelly.

Evan quickly got his journal and pen out, while Kelly was way ahead of him.

"It makes my heart heavy to see the white race sink as how as James' mother has," he turned to the solider with glasses: "At least if she was Mexican she'd be ashamed of herself. But being a white bitch, she still thinks she's better than the brothers she sells that ass to in the parking lot of the titty bar she works at."

"OH!" The soldier with the dark bandana exclaimed.

"Screwby, dawg," the bald soldier concluded.

James was standing eye-to-eye with him the whole time, visibly growing angry.

"Yo, fuck you, man. She's a bookkeeper," James snapped.

"Cockkeeper," the bald Marine jabbed.

"Yo, T! You hear that? The beaners are cracking on your people, too," James called to an African-American soldier, who was reading a book, "ain't you gonna say something?"

"I'm just not into that racial thing, man," T responded.

"All right, let's go, Garza," James said to the Marine with glasses, "let's talk about what we're going to do when we get out of the Corps. We're gonna join us border patrol, and shoot us some wetbacks."

"Yeah, shoot wetbacks," Garza echoed, pretending to shoot from a rifle.

The two men walked off. Kelly put her pen down, satisfied that she'd gotten all this down on paper. American citizens wanted to see what it was like being an Afghan-American woman embedded in a war-zone, she was going to give it to them and hold nothing back.

"Welcome aboard," the bald Marine said to them.

The Marines all went back to what they were doing, already losing interest in the heated conversations just moments before. Kelly was glad to get the heat off of her, and started sorting out the things she needed.

"Hey, what was your name?" The dark-haired Marine chimed-in, looking at Kelly.

"Kelly Shakoor."

"Well, Kelly Shack-whatever, I just wanted to say you're pretty fuckin' hot for haji."

Kelly cocked an incredulous brow at him.

"Don't worry about James, he's all fucking talk, I don't think he's ever banged a girl before. Plus, if he does try anything, he'd be N.J.P'd or worse."

"That's comforting, I guess..."

Kelly went over her writing (trying to block out the numerous BJ offers she was receiving) and start to get to work. She knew this was going to be a long, fucking war.


	3. No Honor Among Thieves

**Sorry for not updating in a month! I kept going back and rewriting this chapter because I didn't like how it was turning out, so I hope this is okay at least.**

 **Thank you to CrierDetonate for the follow and favorite, and to MrsHappyAnarchy for the follow and review! You guys rock! To MrsHappyAnarchy: I'm glad Kelly is a character you're going to love!**

 **I hope you all enjoy, feedback is always appreciated! XOXO**

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Chapter 3: No Honor Among Thieves

Kelly's writing _:_

 _After a couple days of observing the Marines I will come to intimately know in the line of fire, I have come to some conclusions; or rather, a personality analyzation. I find most, if not all, of the men to be disgusting, slobbering dogs, who's only objective in life is to have sex as much as possible. Being the only woman on base, I have been taking the brunt of their aroused onslaught and offers for me to do sexual favors. I have never turned down so many blow jobs and hand jobs in my life. The Marines are painted like courageous, disciplined warriors that will put their life on the line to defend their country. This is not the introduction I have observed. I have forced myself to grow acquainted with the men so I could improve the base of this story, as much as I wanted (originally) to keep my distance._

 _Sergeant Brad Colbert_

 _This man is the Team Leader of the Humvee I'll mainly be stationed in when we head into Iraq. He's incredibly tall and intimidating. He has this icy stare that makes you feel small, exposed, vulnerable. Maybe that's why fellow Marines refer to him as 'Iceman.'_

 _Corporal Josh "Ray" Person_

 _Somewhat of a hick without a serious bone in his body. He enjoys talking about pussy, and drinks way too many energy drinks. He really enjoys hearing himself talk, in fact he very rarely shuts up._

 _Corporal Gabe Garza_

 _Don't know much about the guy, other than he's Mexican but wants to shoot "wetbacks."_

 _Lance Corporal Harold "James" Trombley_

 _I have never met someone so excited to kill. This kid seems a bit unhinged, but at the same time, naïve because of his youth. The kid is only nineteen and has a pregnant wife back home._

 _Sergeant Tony Espera_

 _Likes to talk about racial issues, and calls everyone "dawg."_

 _Corporal Jason Lilley_

 _Won't put down that damned video camera. He enjoys zooming in on my ass every chance he gets._

 _Corporal Walt Hasser_

 _Quiet, that's all I've gathered._

 _Sergeant Rudy Reyes_

 _Straight-up model, I could elaborate more, but I'll keep those thoughts to myself._

 _Sergeant Larry Shawn Patrick_

 _"Pappy" as the men call him. He really wants to keep his moustache._

 _Corporal James Chaffin_

 _Asshole._

 _Gunnery Sergeant Mike Wynn_

 _"Gunny," he seems like the few men around here who are civilized and reserved. It's nice to be comfortable talking to someone other than Evan._

 _Corporal Evan Stafford_

 _Really likes rap and his black du-rag._

 _Naval Hospitalman 2_ _nd_ _Class Timothy Bryan_

 _Straight-forward, tells it how it is no matter who you are, takes no shit._

 _1_ _st_ _Lieutenant Nathanial Fick_

Kelly looked up from her journal, biting the end of her pen in thought. She had no idea where to begin to describe Nate Fick, and she didn't understand why trying to wrap her head around his personality was so hard. He was the first solider she considered having an interview with, he had just been so busy she hadn't had a chance yet.

"Hey, Kelly."

Kelly glanced up from her writing, seeing Evan standing in front of her.

"It's chow time," he informed her.

"I'll catch up later."

"They told me this is the only time to eat," Evan added.

Kelly stood up, gathering her things in her bag. She removed her hairbrush, as Evan watched her curiously.

"Since all the men are gathered in the mess area, I'm going to take this rare opportunity to shower," she announced, already heading out of the tent.

"Oh, well…" Evan scratched the back of his head.

"I'm not taking any chances of having some peeping toms spy on me, I need the privacy. So, don't tell them I'll be in there."

Kelly thought that was a logical enough explanation, and headed toward the showers. The showers were built under a tent, with makeshift plumbing and faucets, lined across the entire tent, and all connected. It was like a community shower, only with a sandy ground, and low tarps for some decency. The water pressure was lacking, the Marine-grade towels were scratchy and thin, and the bars of soap that were provided smelled like cheap aftershave, but it was better than nothing. The showers were also used to do laundry, so there were fatigues, boxers, and pants hanging up on a clothesline at the entrance of the tent. Kelly looked around, double-checking to make sure the coast was clear. She picked a shower deeper into the tent, to affirm her privacy, and started to strip down. There was nowhere to hang her clothes, and she didn't want to lie them down right on the dirt, so she had no choice but to string them up on the clothesline. She hung up her shirt, bra, pants, and underwear, and quickly retreated back to the minimal cover the shower tarp offered. She undid her hair from her Dutch braid, and let her long, black hair cascade freely down her back.

She turned the knob on the creaky faucet, and was greeted first with only a few drops of cool water. She let out a frustrated groan, and twisted the knob again. Water came pouring out, but only with the low pressure of a tap water sink. She took the soap and started to lather it around herself, trying to remove all the grime and sand that had already accumulated in just two days. There was no option of shampoos, so Kelly scrubbed her hair with the soap, running her fingers through the long strands. She knew the soap would most likely dry out her scalp, but there were very few luxuries out here in Kuwait. She sang a Destiny's Child song to herself as she rinsed off, enjoying what she could of civilization. They would be shipping out soon, and after that who knew when she'd be able to shower again.

She turned off the water, then proceeded to dab her hair dry, then wrap the towel around her body. She went back toward the clothesline, humming the same song to herself. She stopped humming when she realized her clothes weren't there. Her shirt, pants, bra, shoes, socks and underwear were gone off the clothesline. The glanced around frantically, but they had vanished.

Vanished wasn't the right word, she knew they had been stolen by one of the Marines.

Kelly felt like pulling out her wet, stringy hair out of her scalp, enraged. There was no way in hell she was going to leave this tent in just her towel, she didn't need that kind of degradation. The thought of one of the men sneaking in here to take her clothes, and possibly seeing her, made her skin crawl. She hugged herself, feeling 'naked' in every sense of the word. She had specifically told Evan not to tell anyone she was here, she wondered if he had blabbed. That didn't seem like him, but she had only known the man for a few days.

"Shit… what now, Kelly?" She said aloud to herself, staring into the makeshift shower tent.

She couldn't just stay huddled in a towel in the shower tent forever, eventually men will start to enter, and she'd be ridiculed in that scenario, too. As she scanned the tent in a panic, her eyes caught on the other clothes hanging on the clothesline. There was a tan shirt with the Marine insignia on it, most likely worn under the uniform, and a pair of boxers. She shuddered at the thought that crossed her mind, but she realized she didn't have much of a choice.

"It's do or die," Kelly muttered, reaching up and snatching the shirt and boxers from the clothesline.

She dropped the towel and quickly dressed herself in the clothes. The shirt was huge on her, reaching down to her things, and the boxers waistband was loose on her waist. She could only imagine how much of a lunatic she looked like, but she was far too furious to care about her appearance at this point. She brushed her damp, long hair out of her eyes and stormed out of the tent. Barefoot, sand kicked up and dirtied her just cleaned feet. She could see the tent she was staying in the distance. She balled up her fists and marched in that direction.

As Kelly made her way toward the tent, rehearsing the ugly words she was going to spew, the flagpole caught her eye. To her horror, the American flag and POW flag had been replaced with her panties. The wind blew them as they flapped in the wind. Kelly felt like she was going to explode. She practically _sprinted_ toward the tent, vowing that there was going to be hell to pay.

"PX rations have just-"

Kelly cut Nate off, storming into the tent fuming, her dark skin nearly turning red with fury. Her dark eyes looked like they could burn holes into someone's skin by the sheer intensity of her glare. Her long hair was undone and wild. She breathed heavily, her chest visibly moving up and down.

The Marines grew silent, observing her strange appearance.

"Um, Ms. Shakoor… what happened?" Nate questioned.

"Why are you wearing Brad's shirt?" Ray asked.

"Okay, which one of you numbnuts stole my clothes, and hung my underwear on the Goddamn flag pole?!" Kelly erupted.

Some of the Marines leaned slightly over to see the flagpole outside.

"God Bless America," Ray said, giving a mock-salute toward the flagpole.

"All right, who did it?" Nate asked, with a heavy sigh.

No one spoke up, in fact the entire tent had fallen silent. Someone coughed in the back, but that was it. Kelly's eyes scanned each and every face, looking for the slightest twitch or change in expression for her to know who was guilty.

"Rudy, can you go get Kelly's clothing down for her, and possibly find out where the flags went?" Nate finally asked, breaking the dense silence.

"Sir," Rudy replied, going out of the tent.

Kelly followed the muscular Marine out of the tent, casting one last deadly look over her shoulder at the crowd. She vowed she was going to find out who did it, and make them pay. The saying: "hell hath no fury like a woman scorned" has never been truer to her.

 **0000**

Back inside the tent, the Marines were opening up their PX rations. Kelly got her clothes back, although no one came forward admitting guilt yet. She decided to hold Brad's clothes hostage, not wanting to risk getting changed again, now she knew she had to be extra careful. She tied her hair back in a messy bun, and looked down at her notes as the men observed what the Marines have given them. She partly paid attention, mostly she was still fuming from the incident earlier.

While some of the men were turning over the clothes they held, Nate explained the usage of the rations. Kelly admired how professional Nate remained, even when dealing with her clothes being stolen. He apologized for their behavior to her, but she told him it wasn't his fault. Nate said he and Gunny were going to keep a better eye on her for now on, and she prayed that this promise would be kept.

"They are rated to maintain their effectiveness against chemical and biological attack for thirty days," Nate explained, "now make sure they fit now. There'll be no chance to exchange them later."

Kelly felt her flesh run cold at the words "chemical and biological attack," but she said nothing. She would probably be mocked for her naivety, considering this was a warzone. She kept her mouth shut, and scribbled down more notes in her journal. Some of the men started to get changed in front of her, and she kept her eyes glued to her journal. Even Evan was trying on the MOPP pants. Kelly felt envious of Evan again; at least _he_ didn't have to take extra precautions to hide his nudity from these men.

"Do not wash, abrade, or puncture your MOPP suit. We expect to fight dirty," Nate continued.

"Been fighting dirty my whole life," someone mumbled.

"Sir, if we are fighting in a chemical environment, and we get shot, how are they gonna cas-evac us if we're dirty?" Espera asked the Lieutenant.

"They're not."

"What?" Espera exclaimed, shocked by Nate's answer.

"You're hit in a chemical environment, you're fucked anyway."

Espera shook his head, and went to go check the rest of his PX rations. Kelly could understand his shock, the risk of being shot and unable to be saved was likely. It was a scary thought, and just made her feel even more uneasy about a chemical attack.

Brad Colbert removed his newly appointed uniform, and scoffed at it.

"Woodland camouflage? Anyone happen to remember we're invading a fucking desert country?" Brad commented, Nate only raised his eyebrows in response.

"Fuckin' retards," someone added.

"Exactly, what the fuck, man?" Brad exclaimed, pissed.

Kelly decided to open her package, seeing that Evan had already done so. She noticed that the two of them didn't get the same camouflage pattern as the soldiers. She turned it around in her hands, feeling the thick material, and noticing that it was going to be big on her.

"How come the reporters get desert?" Trombley asked, observing the difference just as Kelly did.

"I didn't ask for-" Evan began, defensively. He was trying on the desert camo as he did so.

"Ms. Shakoor, you may want to try on your rations, too, to make sure they fit," Nate informed her.

"Yeah, put on a show for us, baby!" Corporal Anthony 'Manimal' Jacks hollered.

Kelly cocked a thumb in his direction, keeping her eyes on Nate.

"That's exactly why I'm not doing so as we speak. I don't feel very confident that I can change with privacy, Lieutenant," Kelly answered, her voice dead-pan.

Nate nodded solemnly, understanding the reporter's unease.

"I'll keep watch outside of the shower tent as you change later, to make sure no one gets any ideas," Nate told her.

"The Lieutenant wants the haji all to himself," James whispered to Pappy, not loud enough for Nate to hear, but Kelly caught it.

She cast the two men a dirty look before answering Nate.

"Sure, that's fine," Kelly replied, her voice still lacking enthusiasm and trust.

"Good, maybe I can finally get my clothes back," Brad interjected, stepping around Kelly.

Kelly looked at Nate, who only shrugged apologetically at her. She went back to writing in her journal, already fed up with the day, and it was far from over.


End file.
